


Shadow

by LocalVoid



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 104th Training Corps Shenanigans, Angst, Anxiety, Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Introspection, Light Angst, Loneliness, No Plot/Plotless, POV Second Person, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocalVoid/pseuds/LocalVoid
Summary: Bertholdt has more than a few lonely thoughts about sitting alone during dinner. Sasha isn’t good at comforting people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was mainly for me to practice writing, but I sort of liked how it turned out so now it’s here. Also, I'm not caught up with the manga so I don't know how canon compliant this is aha.

You don’t like it when he’s happy.

It sounds selfish, because it is. You can’t stand it, because him being happy means that he’s not here anymore.

 _Physically_ , he’s here. He performs outstandingly in all of the drills... after all, he’s a rank higher than you. He laughs with so much genuinity that his eyes crinkle and crease every time Connie unknowingly says something so stupid that it’s funny (even you can’t help but crack a smile), and his face flushes a bright cherry red whenever he compliments-- or rather, _attempts_ to compliment an oblivious Krista just before Ymir stops him in his tracks.

He’s here, but he’s not _here_. With you. 

It scares you when he’s happy, because him being happy means that he forgot about the stain that you both wear on your hands like an extra layer of flesh. You know this too well, because of the warmth he uses with his stained hand to give Jean a friendly pat on the back as they cross paths, or the way he uses it to jokingly lift Armin who struggles every time without fail to reach the top shelf for a book.

You remember how his eyes used to look, because they were a lot like yours. Cold, and distant, and longing for something far out of reach. The same exhausted eyes that had witnessed countless horrors and bloodshed and pain and, and, and…

When he forgets, and you look into those same golden eyes, you see hope.

You don’t like it when he’s happy. It means he’s a soldier. It means you’re alone.

And yet… It’s hard to blame him for forgetting, or to get annoyed like Annie does, and it’s hard to blame him for being loved by everyone around him.

You understand _why_ people love him, because there isn’t much to hate about him. He’s assertive, but not in a mean way. He’s protective, but not obnoxiously so. He oozes confidence, but not like Jean’s hot-headed arrogance. He’s level-headed, and smart, and dependable, and he knows how to talk to people, and he doesn’t sweat excessively or stutter whenever he’s nervous, and he’s… everything a true soldier aspires to be.

You on the other hand, _you’re_... barely a quarter of those things...

So no, you don’t blame him at all. After all, you see how much he enjoys being around them just the same-- maybe a little too much for your own comfort-- and how much stronger he’s become because of it, so who are you to ruin his fun? That’s selfish of you... Aren’t you supposed to be his friend?  

Yeah, he’s here for a mission and you’ve reminded him of that so many times that you lost count, but maybe you’re being too overbearing. Leading this double life _does_ get pretty stressful. So who knows. Maybe he’s right. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a little break… right?

You could go for a break, too. It’s not like you’re _that_ different than he is. So you don’t understand why you’re sitting at a table alone while he’s howling with laughter two tables across from you next to practically all the faces you’ve come to know over the past two years or so.

It isn’t his fault... there simply weren’t any seats left and you didn’t want to be a bother. Besides, sometimes being at a crowded table makes you feel sick. You always liked the seat at the end-- it’s the fastest way to get out if you needed to and you have more breathing room-- but Marco took that one today. No… Reiner actually offered him the spot. It’s okay, though, because you don’t add much to conversations anyway, so it’d make no difference whether you sat with them or not.

Oh… he spilled his soup in the commotion of it all, but he’s laughing too hard to notice.

It’s a mystery as to what made him roar that loud... Maybe Connie said something really foolish again, or maybe Eren said another one of his insults and Jean failed to retort back. Eren _is_ pretty funny when he’s not trying to be... and so is Jean, except his actual premeditated jokes never land. Those two are somewhat alike now that you think about it, and if you were sitting next to them, Jean would probably yell at you for even thinking that.

Either way, you’ve never seen _him_ laugh that hard before. You have to be quite the terrible friend to want to take that away from him. It’s not like you need to be around him _all the time_. He has a life, you know... And he probably gets annoyed with you being his tail. It’s unfair to make him your safe option whenever you feel a little _too comfortable_ with your other… peers. He’s clearly his own person, so why can’t you be?

Just because _you_ have vivid nightmares that make your heart beat so fast you feel like you’re dying, and restless sleep that the others poke at when you wake up in a weird pose, and nausea that lasts the whole day, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on _him_. Who _wouldn’t_ want a break from all of that? Who wouldn’t want the happiness he has?

Who wouldn’t be at least a little… jealous?

No. You’re not jealous. Don’t be stupid. You don’t have room for jealousy, especially for a pointless thing like that. You’re here for a reason, remember? Don’t you remember what you did to these people? To your friends?

Oh… bad habit.

 _Friends_... You have to stop saying that.

These people aren’t your friends. They’ll kill you if you ever slip up. They’re your enemies; that’s all they ever were and that’s all they’ll ever be. This is your mission. You’re not allowed to have breaks, or to feel jealous, or lonely, or hurt, or anything. And you’re _especially_ not allowed to have friends. _This is your mission._ Who do you think you are? 

You were _trained_ for this, so why are you overthinking everything? Just eat your damn soup. Even on _that day_ , you were way stronger than this. Way stronger than the wimp you are now, who gets all insecure during dinner.

You kicked through that wall, and you didn’t hesitate. And when you saw what you did up close, you didn’t even blink. You saw the remnants of the homes you destroyed and the mangled limbs that were blown off from the sheer force of the collision, and someone’s child crushed beneath a shard from the gate you kicked in with a doll still grasped in their hand. You heard groaning, and chewing, and snapping bones, and sobbing, and death rattles, and the buzz of flies, and... you didn’t even flinch. You only wished for silence.

There were other boys your age, rocking themselves or shaking their heads or holding onto a stranger because their parents weren’t there to hold them instead. They either wailed violently or were as still as statues, but one thing they all shared were eyes almost as lifeless as the ones you’d seen on the corpses.

You weren’t like them though. Sure, they were your age but… you couldn’t help but feel so much older.

You were always somewhat of a crybaby when you were really little-- like that time you accidentally tore a butterfly’s wing and it couldn’t fly anymore and you started bawling because you had to put it out of its misery-- but even on that day surrounded by soiled trousers and sweat and a rusty stench of blood that lingered for hours and that _damned_ ringing in your ears that wouldn’t go away... you still didn’t cry like the other boys. Not even a single tear. You only shrieked once, with so much animalistic force and thunder that for a moment, you thought the ground beneath you was quaking with your lungs. You only shrieked once, so hard and for so long until you drowned out all the ringing around you, and until your voice didn’t work anymore. 

No one was there to hold you, so maybe you had one thing in common with them.

 _Proof_ was all those people were to you… proof that you completed your objective and proof that you were indeed a true warrior. The orphaned children, the unanswered pleas, the frantic feet and the vomit, _you_ did that. You should’ve been proud _._ After all, you succeeded, didn’t you?

Wasn’t that the right thing to do?

The right thing… 

You couldn’t understand why _the right thing_ left you squealing and drooling uncontrollably like some feral animal, or why you saw clumps of your own hair and flesh lodged underneath your red and battered nails that you had unknowingly used to pull at your scalp.

 _Traumatized children._ That’s what the adults called the three of you at the settlements. You didn’t understand why, but you knew they were wrong because you _weren’t_ traumatized, and you definitely weren’t a child. You _couldn’t_ be those things. You’re a warrior. You were sent here to destroy them, _all of them_ , so how could you ever be a victim? Let alone a child?

Children don’t kill thousands of people.

 

“There’ll always be moments where you want to run, but your duty as a soldier is to be the driving force that won’t. I’ll always stick by that.”

You can hear his words faintly, but several conversations from the surrounding tables are working hard to muffle him out.

“Is that so, Reiner? How much money would someone have to give you to take on the Colossal Titan by yourself?“ The name startles you. Even though Jean’s back faces your direction, you can still almost feel that he’s raising a brow with that smug smirk of his. He sits at the table next to Reiner’s, and his head rests in his palm. “Aren’t you aiming for the MP? That’s an awful coincidence…”

“Jean... Stop trying to get me to agree with you.” He sounds annoyed. “Like I said, it’s our duty. If it came down to it, I wouldn’t need a bribe to give it my best.”

Eren stares daggers at the smug boy, and there’s a touch of a childish ‘gotcha’ in his gaze to which Jean only rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about him, Reiner, he doesn’t know a thing about dignity.”

“Huh? What’d you say?” Jean snarls.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Marco clears his throat, waving his hand between the two. “...Well, Reiner, as long as someone takes care of that thing… Thanks.”

They’re laughing again, although more lightly than before, but...

That name...

The Colossal Titan…

 

...and Bertholdt.

To you, they’re one in the same, but you tend to hear the former more often than the latter. It’s strange to hear jokes about killing you (you can’t exactly go anywhere without hearing some variation of one) and you almost have to remind yourself not to take it personally. That’s their way to cope with how much they’re disgusted by you, of course, and it makes sense considering how absolutely powerful you are. You could cook everyone here in an instant if you wanted to, and they wouldn’t even know what hit them. Eventually, it might even come to that.

You feel sick.

They’re your _enemies_. There isn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t gut you if they had the chance.

That includes even him, apparently.

He tends to bond the most with them when spreading his… soldier philosophy. You see the stars glimmering in their eyes when he speaks his mind, and the way they blindly follow his advice. Truth be told, the _forgetful_ side of him seems to have far more in common with Eren and the others than with you nowadays. In fact, you’re almost never alone with him anymore. Sometimes you don’t even get a chance to sit next to him during lunch; your spot’s always taken by either Eren or Connie or Jean or someone you’ve never even learned the name of.

Actually, come to think of it, you’ve never actually held a full conversation with… _that_ side of him. Most of them now consist of you mentioning words to make him remember, like _Warrior, Armoured Titan, Hometown_... and if _those_ didn’t work (if he looked at you funny), then your interactions really had no substance. _Hello_ ’s and _see you later_ ’s, and questions about recent assignments. Nothing more.

The days that he’s… _absent,_ grow more frequent and that terrifies you because there’s no nonsensical chatter like you used to have, or discussions of any kind even when he knows you’re bad at keeping the conversation flowing, or even the very rare argument over something mundane like when you accidentally kick his ribs while you’re asleep.

There’s not much to distract you anymore.

But, you’re not one to complain. It’s not like you _care_ that he has other friends, and that he’s closer with them than he is with you, and now you have to sit alone during dinner and you haven’t spoken more than a few sentences to anyone in three days.

No, you don’t care for petty things like that. You’re a lot more like Annie than you are of him. She’s cold, and calculated, and understands what her mission is. She’s alone all the time and she’s okay with it. That... _kind of_ sounds like you... sort of. She isn’t exactly a nervous wreck, though…

Actually, you probably have a lot more in common with her than that. Maybe you should talk to her and find out. Knowing her, she’s probably sitting by herself as well, so that’s a good thing to start with.

You survey the room but can’t seem to spot her. There really isn’t another table that’s as lonely as yours…

Why are your palms so clammy…? You’ve known her for years, haven’t you? Stop being an idiot.

There has to be more conversation topics than just her sitting alone… come on, don’t you have anything better?

She’s not by the door, either…

Where is she, anyway?

 

...

 

Oh.

There she is.

She’s… talking to Mina. There’s just barely a smile on her face, but it’s there. Smiles look weird on her, in a good way. It’s a rare sight to see is all, especially for you. She only ever smiles at you when you bring something down for her from a place she can’t reach, but it’s always more of a ‘I know you personally so I’m just being polite’ smile rather than the scrunchy-eyed smile she has on now...

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but Mina looks enthused. Annie is eating her soup, but listening intently as she puts the spoon in her mouth. She gives a slight nod in agreement, and smiles again, wider this time-- her version of wide, anyway.

She looks… happy.

You’re staring now... Look away before she catches you.

 

...Okay, so what? Maybe it’s involuntary. Maybe she doesn’t even want to talk to her, but now she’s forced to stay at the table because Mina already started on a topic and won’t end it.

She _does_ look like she’s having fun, though… and she keeps glancing over to Reiner’s table whenever Eren starts talking...

 

Stop staring. What’s wrong with you?

Maybe you’re being a little uptight. It wouldn’t hurt to join a table, especially if a loner like Annie joined one. People wouldn’t mind if you sat with them-- you’re the _true soldier_ ’s childhood friend after all. You don’t _have_ to talk if you don’t want to.

And look at that, there’s an empty seat at his table now, right next to Armin. Someone probably finished up early. Now’s your chance. Just stand up, walk over, sit down, smile, shut up, and eat your soup. It’s not that hard. Armin might even start a conversation with you, and maybe he’ll bring up the new book he started the other day-- the same one you had recommended him. Armin’s always been more analytical than you when it comes to those stories… you wouldn’t mind hearing his opinion.

Or... better yet, wait for them to invite you over. They _have_ to notice that they have an extra seat now, and the fact that they (probably) saw you walk away once yours was taken. Surely, they’ll remember. You can’t exactly say no if they ask you to sit with them, either… You’re bad at saying no, so you’ll have no choice but to accept their offer.

Okay, get ready. There’s no way they haven’t noticed by now.

Any moment now...

It should happen just about… 

...Now…

…

No one’s calling you over, are they?

Well... in any case, this is what you wanted, right? Being invisible is a good thing. It means no one will ever suspect you, and you’ll never have to worry about getting so attached to people that you forget who you are. So, give yourself some credit! It’s the best way to stay low, you know...

It _is_ a little odd, though, because you’re their _friend_ and, well... you thought they would at least notice your absence… but it doesn’t matter. You’re not here to have breaks, remember?

But… seriously? No one even thought to look at your table? It’s not like you’re _that_ far away from them, either… All they have to do is turn their heads and there you are. Plus, you’re really tall… it isn’t exactly hard to miss you...

Oh, well… it’s not important. You don’t like attention anyway. The fact is that you only ever get noticed when you’re with _him,_ otherwise you’re as visible as the air around you. It’s not like you’re not used to being his afterthought… you’re more of an ‘oh, and you too, Bertholdt’ rather than just Bertholdt. Quiet, meek, boring Bertholdt. It’s your shtick around here. You’re insignificant, and nobody notices you. It’s not like you’re _unpopular_ , but lately you’ve noticed that people come to you more often just to ask for his whereabouts...

It’s okay, though, because you’re his shadow, and that way you can look after him and nobody will notice, not even him. You can make sure, as quietly as possible, that he’s on the right track even if that means you’ll eat alone more times. But hey, that’s what books are for.

It’s okay that he’s forgetting, and that he seems less interested in seeking you out during the day. It’s okay. Once you make it back home, things will be like how they were. He’ll remember, and he’ll talk to you, and you won’t be alone. It’s okay.

The soup in front of you is getting cold, and there’s a pit in your stomach calling for home as you bring a full spoon up to your mouth. You can’t bring yourself to eat. It’s way too loud in here. The amalgamation of words and giggles and slurps from soup-filled spoons are echoing through your skull that now feels as though it’s made of stone. You want to cover your ears, or run, or scream until you can’t hear anything, but you can’t. 

“...the Instructor… performance was good... join the Military Police…”

“...fighting techniques… getting better…”

“...stop staring... his bowl of soup…”

You just want the noise to stop, because the ringing in your ears is only getting louder, and it’s reminding you of _that day_.

Your hand wavers, and some of the soup spills onto your pants.

 

“...Probably... return to my hometown...”

 

You perk up your ears. Those words… who…?

It can’t be...

 

“It’s the only thing I have going for me now. I have to return, no matter what.”

 

You note his eyes first and foremost, and you see a warrior. The longing gaze, reaching for something out of his reach, just like you. The sincerity in his voice is enough to drown out both the sounds around you and the ringing in your ears, and relief washes over your body with so much warmth that the hairs on your arms stand tall.

That’s _him_ , the _real_ him. He’s letting you know that he’s here. He’s not here next to you, but he’s _here_. Finally.

You slurp down the rest of the soup resting in your spoon.

This is a great sign, because it means that he was able to _remember_ without you reminding him, or saying a specific word, or without you in his presence. It means there’s still hope for the mission, and for you. Going home won’t just be a fantasy you think about when you’re trying to fall asleep, or a faraway dream that fades once you wake up. If he can remember on his _own_ , then there’s a chance you’ll all make it home together. There’s a chance you’ll make it home, with him.

Maybe--

“Once we retake Wall Maria, it’s the first place I’m going to go. Even if there’s nothing left.” He rubs his tired eyes and continues, “It might mean I’ll die in the process, but that’s the sacrifice I’m willing to make. I can’t just sit back and let them win.”

 

Oh…

So... that’s what he meant.

Our ‘hometown’ in Wall Maria, not…

 

The soup you just swallowed doesn’t sit well in your stomach, and you have to force it back down when it runs up to the back of your throat. Your eyes crinkle in a way that makes your face hot and twitchy, and your fist curls so tightly that your knuckles turn a splotchy white.

He’s... willing to die for it, too.

“After what happened that day… all those lives that were taken away… we can’t let that go to waste.”

As he recalls the heinous day, the longing gaze in his eyes remain. He complains about a headache.

You drop your spoon and it makes a loud _clink_ when it splashes into your bowl, but nobody notices. And when you stand, you clumsily bang your knee on the underside of your table and it rattles your entire tray, but nobody glances your way. You tower over basically everyone when you walk towards the door, but nobody even looks in your direction. Not even him.

The brisk air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. Your legs carry you against your will to the back of the mess hall where you slump down defeatedly, mud now coating the back of your pants because you neglected to take into account the drying dirt from yesterday’s downpour. And when you unfold your tight fist, a bead of blood stains your palm where your nail had carved into.

There’s a dying lantern hanging from the wall behind you, and a moth flutters dangerously close to the flame.

It’s breezy. A brush of wind blows into the thin fabric of your clothes, but that isn’t why you’re shaking. The dull flame behind you dies out with a quiet sizzle, and the moth crashes next to you, it’s wing shrunken black. You watch the creature wriggle and writhe, its legs twitching relentlessly as it attempts to take flight only to land pathetically alongside your boot.

It tries to fly again, but it can’t. Its wings are smothered in mud now and it’s only getting worse as it inches itself towards a moth-sized pocket of rainwater. You stare for a moment before hovering your foot above it, and as you turn your head up to the night sky, your boot smothers it into the ground.  

The clouds suddenly make way for a blinding moon that lights everything in your view, from the damp shine of the mud to the outline of blooming trees in the distance. The sky surrounding the orb is a deep ocean blue, with glimmering specks of stars that only accentuate it’s breathtaking glow. You’d find it beautiful if it didn’t make you so sad… that poor moth didn’t even get to see it.

It does look a little blurry, though. It’s glare is shooting straight into your eyes and making you squint.

 

Wait, a blurry moon…? That can’t be right. You’re not crying, are you? You would’ve felt it.

You can’t cry. Not because you don’t want to, but because you shouldn’t. You didn’t even cry on _that day_ , so you’d have to be a complete weakling to cry over something like this. You _can’t_ cry. You’re a warrior. This is your mission, and crying right now means you’re compromising it. Crying right now means you care about these people. Crying right now means you’ll never go home.

Your face is all ugly with the way it’s contorting involuntarily, with snot rolling down your stuffy nostrils, and a bottom lip that can’t seem to stop trembling. This pitiful face lingers for an amount of time that you lose track of, and yet there’s still no tears on your face. It’s because you’re strong, just like you were on that day. It doesn’t matter that you’re on your own.

You’re going home, for sure… just like he said, even if he got the location wrong. You’re going home. _You’re going home_. You’re…

Something wet rolls down the crease of your nose, and it happens again and again, until you cave in to a breathy whimper that pushes down the sins on your shoulders by tenfold and crumbles you further into the mud. It’s heavy, so heavy that you feel like the moth smothered underneath your boot. It’s so heavy that you want to transform to just to lift this burden for a few blissful seconds. It’s so heavy that you’re not even sure if your colossal form and all its strength alone would be able to rid this.

Another bead rolls down past your cheek and curves into the corner of your gasping lips. It’s salty, and it happens against your will, and you’re terrified because your hiccuping breaths are falling so short that you can’t breathe, and your chest is heaving so violently that you feel like your ribs are about to snap, and your tears are falling so rapidly that you feel like you’re drowning in them. Your cheeks are all sticky and slimy and wet and awful noises are escaping from your mouth that are too fast for you to catch.

You call for him in your head, silently, barely even a whisper, but he never arrives.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 

You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you wish someone would have told you about the amount of mangled bodies you’d see, or the amount of tears you’d cause, or all the sleepless nights you’d have, and the friends you’d make and lose, or the guilt. If only someone had warned you of how truly alone and scared you would feel. Maybe then, you wouldn’t feel so tempted to dance around a flame knowing that one of your wings will surely burn out.

Footsteps approach from behind but come to a halt at the pathetic sight of you. A glimmer of hope flutters deep in your chest, and for a moment, the image of him standing behind you with his worried stare flashes behind your eyes. It has to be him… he would be the only one to _eventually_ notice your absence.

But when you turn your gaze ever so slightly for a glimpse too quick for you to even identify the face, it’s still enough to confirm that those piercing golden eyes are nowhere to be found.

You hug your knees to your chest and you weep. This is what you deserve. If you hadn’t been such a grovelling wimp, then maybe you wouldn’t have failed him so miserably, and you would be sitting next to him with a bowl of soup at this very moment to serve as a reminder of your hometown, and he would nod at you in that reassuring way like he does and you would know that he’s a warrior. It’s no wonder that he’s decaying with _you_ as his companion. Someone like you can’t do anything right.

The only thing you managed to do was blow a hole through that wall three years ago, and even that couldn’t have prepared you for the rot that burrowed deep into your flesh for every year following; a feeling so sickening and dirty that regardless of how long you stood in the showers and scrubbed your skin until it went red, it never went away. The line you walk between right and wrong is so pinpoint thin that you’re slipping, and there’s no one at the bottom to catch you when you fall. Not your friends, not Reiner, or Annie, or anyone.

You just wish someone would have told you about all of this.

You look disgusting, and weak, and embarrassing to whoever is silently standing there-- probably debating whether to pretend they hadn’t seen you-- and you can’t even bring yourself to look up at them. The humiliation alone is enough to make you turn your face away from the stranger, but it doesn’t do much to hide your snivelling demeanor.

How did you ever call yourself a warrior when you’re this much of a coward?

 

“B… Bertholdt…?”

The voice is soft, and shy, almost like it’s the first time it’s had to speak to a cowering idiot. You swing your eyes to the girl, but your vision is still blurred. You can only somewhat make out her wild auburn hair... 

Sasha.

“...!” She jumps up when your watery gaze meets hers, and her now bug-eyes dart in every direction except for yours. The cogs in her head are visibly turning, and she almost resembles a deer that’s been caught in the line of fire. “Oh, um…! I thought I heard something...”

The uncomfortable silence gives you an opportunity to awkwardly wipe away the wetness from your cheeks, but your hands are still notably shaking as you do so. She clears her throat. 

“Is… is this because…”

Your shoulders tense up as you cook up an excuse. What could you even tell her? Maybe you’re mourning a parent or something... or even a lost friend, or maybe someone mentioned your ‘hometown’ in southeast Wall Maria and you got upset. It wouldn’t even be a lie at that point. Maybe you can-- 

“...Is this because I ate your soup?”

 

...What? ...Soup?

 

“...Huh?” The thought rolls out from your lips without you noticing, and you crunch your face at her with confusion.

Sasha’s eyes grow twice the size than they were as she scratches her temple, giggling anxiously. “W- well, you see… I saw you weren't eatin' your food so I was gonna ask you if I could have it, heh…! But then you left and I thought 'huh he's taking an awful long time in the bathroom' and then everyone else was leaving too and it was getting really cold and I was still hungry and Mikasa didn’t wanna give me hers so..."

She trails off in her own mutterings before turning back to you.

"Well, you see what I mean, don’t you? I- I didn't know that you still wanted it. M’sorry."

You usually always have something more to say in any conversation you’re a part of (even if it’s very minor), but you willingly never choose to say it out loud. This time though, you truly have nothing to say. Your mouth hangs open.

“Um…” Your voice is weary and high and it makes you want to immediately stop talking, and on top of that, you can feel excess snot sneaking down your nose before you quickly wipe it away with your sleeve. “It’s… okay. It’s not about that...”

Also, why did she think you would react this way over… soup? Would _she_ react this way…?

 

...Actually, yeah.

 

“Oh, okay. Phew.” She sighs and inches closer to you. There’s another pause, her big eyes locked with concern, “...It was still good, you know. Even though it was cold. Everyone says the soup tastes the same no matter what they do to it but today was much better. I notice these things, you see."

The dull ache behind your eyes throbs tenaciously, but fortunately the tears have slowed.

Sasha is antsy in her spot, a light bounce to her feet. She’s probably used to springing off Connie’s walls, or pushing Jean’s easy-to-press buttons until he explodes, or… her senseless yet fluid conversations with Reiner, where she brings up topics he doesn’t care to know about, and yet they manage to talk and laugh for ages and ages...

But you’re not like them. You don’t give her anything to work with. You’re boring, and quiet, and you humiliated yourself in front of her. That’s why you sit alone. At this point, all you can really do is wait for her to get bored and leave.

But she doesn’t. 

Instead, she sits herself down next to you, completely aware of the mud that’s going to stain her pants like it did yours.

 

 _Click_.

 

She opens her side-bag and pulls something out, tearing the object in half before holding out the larger piece for you to take. “Here,” You can’t see her face, but you know she’s smiling. “I was savin’ it for myself, but… well, I could wait a little longer.”

The bread waits for you to take it.

“No… I’m fine.”

“Take it.” Sasha insists, motioning her hand. 

Is... this really happening? You do realize what you did to everyone here, right? Don’t take it.

You try your hardest to avoid any type of help from these people, any type of gratitude, or kindness, or respect, and because of that you’re the ‘humble and modest Bertholdt,’ who downplays himself constantly and lacks any sort of confidence and doesn’t know how to take a compliment. What they don’t understand is that you prefer it this way, because it’s the only way that the weight you’re carrying won’t pile on more stinking corpses. If only she knew who you really were…

If she knew, then she would never offer you anything. Don’t take it.

“Come on, my hand’s gettin’ tired.” She grumbles, and your hand trembles.

Despite all that… you’d be lying if you said that their kindness didn’t reward you some sliver of normalcy in the situation you’re in. Sometimes you have such a good time with them that it almost feels like...

...No… you can’t...

“Last chance.” She hums.

You crack a smile, and lift the bread from her hand. You really are the worst.

“Thanks…”

It’s hard to find an appetite, but you force it down so that she doesn’t see it go to waste. It had to have been a huge sacrifice for her to give it to you, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasha POV.

You’re bad at this. Comforting people. You’re good at making people laugh, or making them so annoyed that they yell at you or call you overused nicknames (Jean or Ymir are easy to do this to), and you’re good at shooting arrows, and cooking, and seasoning your meats or potatoes but... comforting someone who’s crying so hard that their eyes are bloodshot red and they can barely get a full breath out of their lungs… that’s not exactly your specialty.

You thought about maybe walking away… a guy as quiet as he is probably wouldn’t want someone to see him this way. But you swore to never ignore your gut, especially when it holds your legs down like this. You’ve never seen him in such a… vulnerable state before. He’s always so timid, and soft-spoken, and meek, and he never expresses his emotions to any extreme, so something bad must have happened...

He was from Wall Maria, wasn’t he? There’s probably many things he’d rather forget. You can’t exactly relate… you don’t know what it’s like to have your hometown destroyed. Well, in any case, the bread seemed to cheer him right up. Yeah, you were saving it, but you _did_ eat his soup so…

“Sasha…”

Oh, he’s talking first…?

“Uh-huh?”

“Erm… did… you happen to see Reiner when everyone was leaving?”

“Reiner? Hmm…”

You recollect your memories, and he’s looking at you like he’s itching for your response, almost as if there’s a wrong answer to his question...

“...No. I think he and Eren and some of the others stayed behind a little longer. They were being pretty loud.” Yeah, that’s right. He and Eren were listening to Connie’s village tales. You’ve heard it all before, and he was retelling the one about the time some of the other kids had ditched him in the woods… Jerks. That was also when Mikasa told you that you couldn’t have her leftovers.

“Oh, and he spilled his soup _again_. What a waste… if he wasn’t gonna eat it, I could’ve just asked him instead of taking yours.”

“Oh…” Bertholdt sinks into himself, still sniffling, and you see a glisten spring back to the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, Sasha. Sorry... for troubling you.”

Man, he’s really in the dumps. And you’re running out of ideas. You really thought the bread would work since it was kind of your trump card. Once you mentioned Reiner it seemed to make him worse, surprisingly. Maybe they had a fight? That’d probably be the only thing to upset him… but _this_ much? They really _are_ close if that’s the case...

This is a lot harder than you already thought it was going to be. What could you say now? You don’t know him that well-- nobody does, really, because he hardly tags along to anything unless explicitly told he can or unless Reiner is there, so it’s not like you can connect with him on some personal level. You have to think back...

You were sitting with Ymir and Krista and a few others back in there, staring at the bowl of soup he wasn’t touching, and Ymir yelled at you to stop preying on other people’s meals. You couldn’t help it, you swear… an abnormally fast metabolism is your greatest bane, but she wouldn’t listen.

Actually, Ymir too, kept glancing over to his table after that, and then she had randomly suggested we go over there to embarrass him before Krista told her to stop being mean. That’s when he got up and left, and Ymir almost looked concerned.

What was she looking at, anyway? Was she telling you to stop staring at his soup because _she_ wanted it for herself? That’s so cruel… Too bad for her, because you snatched it before anyone else realized it was sitting there all lonely. No one else was at his table, so it made it even easier to slip by and take it.

Come to think about it, it’s pretty weird that he wasn’t sitting with Reiner, who would have for sure made a comment or given a look. Lately, you haven’t seen them together at all...

 

Oh… Is that why…?

 

Maybe he feels… alone?

 

You feel like you’re onto something, but there’s no more leads for you to go on. If only Ymir were here… she’s always been good at reading people…

Well, you don’t have much to lose at this point, especially if the bread didn’t work. If he feels alone, you’ll just have to start with that.

“...You know, this is nice. It was really loud in there, even for me.” The dough is so soft and cloud-like that it practically melts in your mouth, you just can’t comprehend how it didn’t cheer him up immediately… “Things are always chaotic here in some way or another. But with you, it’s never like that.”

“Oh… sorry.”

Jeez, that’s not what you meant at all. He’s a lot more resigned right now than you’ve ever seen him act, and he apologizes way more than you do, even though _you’re_ the one that sees the Instructor almost daily...

“Huh? No, I just mean… You have a way of making people feel comfortable, no matter what type of person they are. It’s a pretty rare talent to have.” You explain it to him almost like it’s a concept he’s never heard before, and there’s so much belief in your own words that he looks at you like you’re speaking a foreign language. “You’re a breath of fresh air, in a way. That sort of thing is kinda hard to come by these days.”

“I… I see…”

He blinks away when you grin at him, “Good and honest people in general are hard to find, you see. People like you make this all easier to get through.”

Bertholdt’s hand balls into a tight fist. “...Y- yeah… Um, I don’t know about me being one of those people, though…”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

You see the bump at his neck slide up as he swallows the frog down his throat. “I… It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

He clenches his jaw, leaving you with your head tilting like a bemused dog. Does he think he’s a bad person?

You look up at the moon. It’s beautiful.

“...Well, I don’t think a bad person would say ‘sorry’ as much as you do…” You poke at him, and oddly, he seems to get flustered by this comment.

“Wha--? I- I don’t…”

“Bad people don’t care about their friends, but you’ve helped me and Connie study for our drills countless times… I mean, you could’ve just let us fail so that you could climb the ranks yourself, but you didn’t.”

That’s right… he’s helped you keep your place in the ranks more times than you can count. Most people (including you) go to Armin or Reiner or Marco if they ever need help with something, but Bertholdt’s always been the first one readily available to help you. The fact that he’s so quiet makes it so that you don’t feel intimidated when you need to ask him the same question for the fourth time in a row.

Actually...

”Sometimes you offer to help without me even asking. I think someone that only cares about themselves wouldn’t bother with any of that, let alone take the time to be patient with me... And again, you didn’t even get mad that I ate your soup either, heh...”

When you look back to him, you half expect him to have a smile on his face but… he just looks like he’s going to cry again. There’s another expression that you’ve never seen him wear before, and it’s… unsettling. It’s one of pity, and remorse, like he caused you great harm… kind of like that time your dog got an awful gash during a hunt (from that darn terrorizing bear), and how your father looked at her before he put her down.

He’d put down tons of animals before, but that was the first time you saw him do it with a look like that on his face. You remember the next few nights without her, with you a blubbering mess at the dinner table, and he still wore that look. Maybe because he was taking a part of you when he shot her.

Darn, you really miss that dog.

It’s not a good look on Bertholdt, not just because it makes him look like a little kid that accidentally broke a treasured family heirloom, but because he’s the last person to do anything bad to you or… anyone. Even when he disagrees with someone, he’s always too much of a wuss to outright say it. He’s a total doofus when it comes to helping you make decisions, and he’s the worst person to ask if you need help deciding whether you should go with the mashed or baked potatoes (you can only choose one sometimes). Seriously, you can’t even briefly bring up ‘girl topics’ without him turning into a red, stuttering mess. So you don’t understand why he’s looking at you like he murdered your entire family…

“Um… I- I really should get to bed.”

He’s standing up, and that unnerving look is still there.

“I’m… very sorry, Sasha.”

Wait...

 

Wait a minute, did you just make it _worse_? You didn’t think that was possible. He’s about to leave and you might as well have just handed him a noose!

 

“W- wait a second, Bertholdt! Uh…!” You call out before he has the chance to walk away, patting down the back of your mud stained trousers. “How- how about--!”

“There you are!”

 

Oh no…

 

You know that tone of voice and it’s coming from right behind you. When you spin yourself around, only half of you is happy that you had guessed correctly. There, in front of you, Ymir stares you down with her arms crossed tightly, while Krista sheepishly waves beside her.

“What happened to our bet?”

Bet…? Oh yeah…

“Oh…! I was just about to do your laundry… Just now…!”

“Ymir, I thought I told you to stop making bets with Sasha.” Krista sounds like a teacher scolding her rebellious student. Her eyes dart to yours before she continues in a quieter murmur, “You always pick ones you know she’ll lose…”

“Huh? That’s the point.” Ymir crunches her face and looks to you with a hand on her hip, “You could quit anytime, Sasha. But only after you do my laundry. A bet’s a bet.”

It’s true, you’re terrible at bets when all you have to rely on is your deflating impulse control. You have good instincts, sure, and you practically nail any other challenge, but for some reason, Ymir’s bets always have something to do with things that are just too irresistible…

“Hm?” Ymir’s eyes immediately dart to Bertholdt, who’s back is turned on you as he awkwardly tries to evade the scene, and her eyebrow raises with interest. “Oi, Bertl. I almost didn’t see you there...”

He stops in his tracks and even you can feel from a few feet away that he’s dreading any sort of conversation. Which means… Now’s the perfect opportunity to help him out and take back the imaginary noose you gave him! In his current state, banter from Ymir would only be a death sentence…

Although… she already looks like she has something set in her mind. You have to distract her before it’s too late...!

“Er-- so, Ymir, did you want your laundry--”

But you’re interrupted by her crude giggles. Darn.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without Reiner. Is it ever really hot when you’re not in his shadow?”

“Ymir!” Krista jabs her elbow into Ymir’s ribs, and she hisses in pain.

“What? I’m just joking. He knows I am.”

Krista jerks her head in his direction and Ymir finally sees the boy’s dimly lit face, clear that he had been crying earlier. Her crass expression suddenly fades into one of concern. On the other hand, you want to sprint as far as humanly possible from this awkward encounter...

“Oh... My bad.”

Bertholdt forces a smile. “It’s okay. I’m... leaving now.”

You note that in Krista’s eyes she bears the look of a troubled mother, and she steps forward slightly, almost as though approaching a cornered animal. Even though you failed your mission of saving Bertholdt from what’s to come, you’re still itching to see what you couldn’t accomplish…

“Bertholdt…? Is everything okay…? I- I know we don’t talk much, but…”

“Mm.” He nods, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He isn’t though, you can still see it in his face and hear it in his voice. They do, too. But you understand his sentiment enough that you force more words out of your mouth, and you motion towards the girls’ barracks behind you with your thumb. “Uh! It’s getting late, you guys, maybe we should head back now.”

“Well, it’s just that--”

Ymir suddenly scoffs and waves a dismissive hand, interrupting Krista’s train of thought, “Oh, please. Quit the good girl act, Krista, it’s making me dizzy.” She then turns her attention back to the tallest of the four of you. “I’m sorry, Bertl.”

“I- it’s fine, like I said--”

“But hey, is this because Annie found out that you have the _hots_ for her?”

You’ve seen enough dead animals to know what a drained body of blood looks like, and you’ve been training here for long enough that you know what an actual dead person looks like, but even those corpses were never as pale as he is right now...

“H- huh…?” You’ve also never seen his eyes get that big either… it’s as though they’re twice the size of the moon above you.

What’s happening right now? Even Krista looks confused…

“What, you don’t know? Jeez, you’re really living under a rock.” Ymir pulls her finger up to her chin, and she has an odd smile on her face. The same one she gives you when she’s making a bet with you… “It’s pretty much the only gossip we’ve had for the past week.”

Well, at least his face isn’t ghostly white anymore… but now it’s as red as Dad’s freshly grown tomatoes back at home… there’s even a shine of sweat seeping from under his bangs. Also, you have no idea what Ymir’s even talking about. There’s gossip in the girls dorm, sure, but Bertholdt hardly comes up in any of it. Maybe here or there, but...

“Th- that’s…” His eyes are shooting around like crazy, and strangely enough... the unsettling, remorseful look he gave you earlier seems to have vanished completely. “...That’s a lie. I don’t know wh- who told you that, but--”

“Look, Stare-tolt-- I mean, Bertholdt. Sorry, sorry, bad habit. I wasn’t supposed to let him know about that, huh, Krista?”

“Huh? Don’t drag me into whatever this is!” Krista exclaimed, “Bertholdt, don’t listen to--”

“I mean, I get it. Annie’s pretty, even if her personality’s a rock. She’s no Goddess, though.” Ymir leans down on the shoulder of the shorter girl, who almost immediately shakes her off, “Also, that’s not an invitation for you to look at Krista instead. I already have that _brute_ to worry about. But anyway, you don’t have to blush like some school boy.”

“I- I’m not…!”

“I mean, most of us think it’s cute, or whatever. I don’t know about Annie, but she walked in on us talking about it, so...”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to get even more red. Bertholdt’s acting more like he was accused of murder than of liking someone, his hands are fidgeting restlessly and he looks like he might pop.

“Oh, yeah, she probably knows _aaaall_ about it. Huh, would you look at that, she’s right over there.” You turn your head and see the girl in question walking towards the girl’s dormitory. Bertholdt turns his head too, and begins to shake. “Say, why don’t we ask her now and get it out of the way? Who knows, she might even--”

“E- EHH?!”

Ymir has that sly smirk of hers painted all over her cheeks again. She looks like she’s fighting the urge to snicker and point in his face. Flustered, he’s scratching his head, and with every ragged breath it seems like he’s inching further away from the three of you.

“Come on, Bertl, grow a pair. Don’t you wanna kiss the girl of your dreams? Just imagine it, you and her alone, and-- you know what? Here, I’ll make it easy for you.” Ymir inhales deeply and Bertholdt makes a noise that’s something of both a gasp and a whine, “Oi, Ann-- mmmfph!!”

“Ymir, that’s enough!” Krista practically shoves her hand down the girl’s throat, muffling her calls. As the two of them shuffle around, you notice Bertholdt not-so-sneakily running off in the direction of the boys’ barracks, but not without glancing repeatedly in Annie’s direction as he does so...

Krista turns, “Bertholdt, she’s just-- huh, where’d he go?”

“Probably off to the dorms.” Ymir snorts, her eyes squinty with amusement. The shorter cadet throws down her clenched fists, her eyebrows crinkling with frustration. You don’t think it looks very intimidating.

“What’s wrong with you? I can’t believe you’d do something like that!”

The abrasive girl crosses her arms, “ _Huh?_ What gives?”

“You saw how he looked, and all you did was make fun of him!”

“I _didn’t_ make fun of him. Right, Sasha?”

The question catches you off guard. You were so invested in the drama that you forgot you were a part of it… “Wha- guh…! Well, you _kinda_ did…”

“Tch. Kiss-ass.”

“Ymir, you _know_ how quiet he is. People like that never reach out.” Krista folds a strand of hair behind her ear, “He could’ve been going through something really bad…”

“Yeah, but now he’ll be too busy biting his nails to cry over it.”

“...Huh?” You both look to the freckled girl.

Ymir sighs, bothered, like she knows something you both don’t. “Look, I did that to take his mind off of whatever it was that was troubling him. Do you really think he’s still gonna mope around when he’s too busy freaking out? He should be thanking me!” She proudly explains, cackling to herself as though admiring her own genius, “I mean, did you see how red he got? Poor guy’s gonna have a lot of fun dreams tonight…”

Krista’s dumbfounded, shaking her head with awe, “There’s…! There were so many other ways to do that!”

“That was just mean for no reason…” You say in his defense.

“Come on, I’m not _that_ mean. And it’s usually for good reason. _Usually_.”

Then is making you do her laundry for some type of world-saving reason…? You wonder…

“I don’t care. Apologize to him.”

“In trouble, am I? You’d make a good mom, Krista.”

“Do it or I won’t talk to you for a whole month!”

“Okay, okay! I’ll do it first thing tomorrow, sheesh. It’s not like I wasn’t gonna tell him eventually! ...Probably.”

“Good.” She sighs and the three of you begin to stroll towards the barracks. They really do bicker like an old married couple… sometimes you’re astonished as to how they’re the same age as you. “I had no idea he liked her, though…”

“Are you kidding? He’s an open book.”

In the meanwhile, you’ve had a question brewing in your mind, and Ymir catches this immediately from the way you’re looking intently at her.

“What?”

You gulp. “Ymir, is… is that why you kept looking at him back in there?”

She’s taken aback by your question and gives you a stern eye. “Huh?”

“Well, unless you wanted his soup too… but his table was-- er, empty, you know…”

“...So?”

Krista looks up at Ymir as well with warmth glowing over her face, “So that’s why you wanted us to go over there? Not just to embarrass him, but because he was sitting alone…?” She smiles, “That’s… considerate of you.”

“And here I thought you were just being a jerk…” You chuckle lightly, “But you’re actually a pretty kind person, Ymir.”

Ymir curls her lip sourly. She’s almost as red as Bertholdt was.

“Shut it, potato girl. Why would I care about something like that? If it doesn’t benefit me, then it’s a waste of time.” She snaps defensively, “Besides, does Bertholdt look anything like good ol’ Krista here? That’s even more of a reason for me not to bother.”

You roll your eyes. “Suuure, heh, okay.”

Just before she has a chance to further bark at you, Krista comes to your rescue. “I just hope Stare-tolt-- er! I mean-- Bertholdt is alright.”

Ymir giggles, “It’s a great nickname, isn’t it? I made it up on the spot.”

“It really isn’t, Ymir...”

“You’re right. It’s shit.” She gently wraps her arm around Krista’s neck, playing with her blonde locks between her two fingers, “Say, why don’t we get married after all this soldier bullcrap?”

“Would you quit sneaking that in random sentences? I already said okay.”

You sheepishly raise your hand, “Am… am I invited…? Will there be cake…?”

“Eh? You’re still here?” She wraps her other arm around your neck too, but it feels more like a hearty headlock than the tender treatment Krista received... Even still, it’s gentle enough for you to understand that she doesn’t really want to hurt you. There’s a devious look on her face as she snarls at you, but there’s also a genuine smile hidden beneath. “My laundry isn’t gonna do itself, you know!”

“R- right!” You stutter, and a part of you wants to laugh at her poor attempts of being cruel, but you'd rather not poke a wolf when its got your head in its caring grasp. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I may do a shorter POV chapter of Sasha and her perspective of Berty but we'll see.


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